


Tchaikovsky

by hokay



Series: Russian Country Love Song [2]
Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: F/M, don't judge my lack of linguistic knowledge, so sweet you might get cavitites, they're so cute
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-04-22
Updated: 2010-04-22
Packaged: 2018-01-02 16:57:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 973
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1059297
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hokay/pseuds/hokay
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Or, how Joanna McCoy learned Russian.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tchaikovsky

**Author's Note:**

> This may take time during some point in _Brown-Eyed Girl_. Or, it might not. It's anyone's guess, really.

He is walking by the training room when he first hears it: the unmistakable sound of a piano. He pauses in mid-step to listen and finds himself drawn towards the music. As quietly as possible, he enters the room, only to be disappointed in the distinct lack of instruments in the room. However, he _does_ see a young woman over by the wall of mirrors, stretching as she sways to the music. Identifying the piece as one of Beethoven’s, he smiles softly and turns to leave when he hears a feminine voice call his name.

“Lieutenant, is there somethin’ I can help you with?”

He turns to see her looking at him with genuine curiosity on her pretty face. He must look rather odd, standing in the door to the athletic training room, still in his gold uniform, carrying a PADD and looking horribly scientific. He feels his face flush, and for a moment he’s sixteen all over again.  

“Not at all,” he says, flashing a warm smile. “Just enjoying the music.”

She smiles back, twisting neatly out of her grand plie in order to move towards him, head cocked as she contemplates the tune. “‘Moonlight Sonata’ is the only classical piece my father can stand,” she offers by way of explanation and he nods.

“It is a beautiful piece. But Beethoven is nothing compared to Tchaikovsky.”

He can immediately tell by her confused expression that she doesn’t know, or at least _recognize_ , the Russian composer. He stares at her in mild shock, hoping for a brief moment that she doesn’t consider him terribly rude when he blurts, “How can you love Beethoven but not Tchaikovsky?”

She shrugs, one eyebrow rising in an expression that is entirely too much her father’s. “The name’s just not very familiar.”

“You would know him if you heard him,” he says, quickly tapping through some files on his PADD, compressing them all into one file and into one email. “I have sent you a few of my favorite pieces. You will enjoy, I think.”

“Thanks!” Her response blinds him, it’s so bright. So like her father, and yet so different. Sometimes, he sees them together and wonders if the doctor was as effervescent as she before the horrible divorce that turned him into an irritable, hypo-happy grouch.

“You are welcome,” he says quietly, remembering that he was due to meet Scotty to discuss various elements of transportation physics. “I have to go,” he says with no small amount of remorse. “I will see you later, yes?”

“Yes,” she confirms, a strand of dark brown hair escaping from behind one ear. Her brown eyes sparkle at him when she smiles and he can’t help but reach out and tuck that piece of hair back. Her face changes to complete and delighted shock, and he briefly mutters something in Russian before escaping through the door.

With a sigh and a smile, she orders the computer to turn off the music and leaves the training room in a quest to find a certain Communications officer.

 

 

 

“Nyota, what does ‘ti pree _krahs_ nah _vi_ gleedeesh’ mean?” Joanna’s voice is unsure but her accent is pretty damn good, in Uhura’s opinion, and she spins in her chair to give the young woman a long, searching look. At the complete innocent on Joanna’s face, the lieutenant sighs and leans back in her chair.

“My Russian’s not perfect, but I think it means ‘You look lovely,’ or something to that extent.” Joanna notices that the woman doesn’t look happy with her lack of knowledge, but knows it’s as good as she’s going to get when Uhura suggests, “Why don’t you ask Chekov?”

Joanna shakes her head from her perch on Uhura’s bed. “I can’t.”

“Oh?” The older woman is intrigued, leaning forward in her chair, head tilted in the way that Joanna _wishes_ she could get right, because, for some inexplicable reason, that head tilt makes men spill their guts. “And why not, Jo?”

Miss McCoy may or may not meet Uhura’s eyes as she mumbles, “He’s the one who said it.”

“ _Oh_.”

“Yep.”

There’s a contemplative moment of silence before, “You do know he’s eight years older than you, right?”

Joanna’s head snaps up, eyes sparking defensively. “I’m eighteen! Last time I checked, that’s legal.” Uhura recognizes that same fiery, argumentative streak that she sees Doctor McCoy get every time the Captain doesn’t want a physical, and Uhura almost feels bad for Jocelyn for having to deal with these two forces of nature for a good deal of her life. Then, Uhura remembers the hell that that woman put Leonard and this charming young woman through, and she stops pitying the bitch. Fast.

With a smirk on her beautiful face, Uhura shakes her head, ponytail swinging. “That won’t keep your father from freaking out.”

The change from defiant to terrified on Joanna’s face is so quick, Uhura blinks to catch up. “Please don’t tell Daddy. He’d kill Pav-Chekov.”

Still smiling, Uhura holds up two fingers. “On my honor, I won’t tell. It’s not like he kissed you or anything.” At Joanna’s mysterious smile, she drops her hand, feeling her stomach plummet. “He didn’t, did he, Jo?”

Joanna slips off the bed, sauntering to the doorway with all the ease of a satisfied cat. “No,” she says airily. “Not yet.” With a purely _evil_ cackle that sounds vaguely like the captain on a productive day, she slips out the door before Uhura can pick her jaw up from the floor long enough to respond.

 

 

 

Leonard McCoy doesn’t want to know why Chekov sees him in the hallway and turns an unhealthy shade of gray. He also doesn’t want to know why his daughter has a sudden penchant for Russian composers.

All he knows is that the two incidents had damn sure not be related.


End file.
